Elementals
by GamerLake
Summary: One stitchpunk. Her thoughts of her experiences. OCs, and some spoilers.


It howls mournfully through the debris, sounding much like the moan of a poor sick child. I stop my journey, digging my staff into the cracks of the dehydrated soil, and looking up toward the sky. Two rusted pipes jut out of the split concrete slabs above me, echoing with the wind's cry.

A feeling inside me stirs, reflecting the wind's feeling. "I know, Whin… I know…"

I haven't always been so alone. I remember the day I met them; my family. I had felt that I knew them, but they were wearing masks—like someone had pulled canvas over their faces but left the rest of them unchanged. I remember that he had been the first to greet me…

I stop in front of a weathered stone.

It says 'Whindred'.

Oh how I remember him. He had been so lively; never yelled, or so much as held a grudge. He was sweet, and caring, and so compassionate. But he never liked his name. He would frown at it, like it were some sort of a bother to be called it (I for one always found it to be rather handsome). "Eveie," he would say, "Call me Whin. Please."

He had never heard me when I finally did call him Whin.

I sigh and kneel down to the stone. I brush off the dust. He would have been so sad. His dream was to become a pilot, when he was human. That dream had been taken away when the war had started, just like his human body.

He wouldn't have wanted to be honored this way: Buried in the dust. He would have wanted to be cremated, his ashes allowed to fly the world, to live the dream that he never would. Not to be buried, left to be nothing but a rain catcher, if it were to ever rain again.

But I know it won't. She had died too.

This however, was all I knew. I was not built to burn. I was not built to destroy. I was built to save. I was built to live. But I have already failed.

I remember the time I had met them, a few days after I had awoken. Whin ran up to me, took my hand and shook it. He introduced himself as 19. He had then stood back gesturing to two others.

A young one, her flesh a deep indigo, hid behind a much older, taller red being. She whimpered softly, stating herself as 11. The red one grunted, saying what was possibly 13. I did not understand. Why are they numbered? "These are your names?" I had asked in disbelief.

Whin had looked down at me, laughing and shakining his head. "Of course not. Not our original names, at least. My name is—"

"Whindred," mocked the red being 13.

"_Whin_." refuted the friendlier one. He returned his attention to me. "_That_ would be grumpy Mr. Blair." The young blue one scuttled over to him, grabbing his white leg. He laid a copper hand on her head gingerly. "This is Hy. It's short for something, I just can't remember what it is…."

"Hydromida," I whisper. I wipe the dust off the stone again.

"Oh, that's right!" Whin had said. He was always so forgetful. "I'm sorry Hy. You know my memory… Big words just don't stick." He looked back to me, smiling. "What be your name?"

I remember how hard it had been to recall it. One simple word. One word that had and would forever be my identity. But that word had almost escaped me. It had almost been lost when my body had been replaced by this fabric supplement.

"It is Eve," I said once I remembered, more to myself than to him. I knew that I mustn't ever forget it again.

Whin had held out his hand and I shook it a second time. "It's nice to have you in the family, Eve," he said with a grin. "Now that we have met, let's see what your number is."

I had never let him. I did not want to know what it was. I was not a number: Numbers were good for nothing but statistics, and statistics were good for nothing but fools. An explosion had boomed in the distance as I said this.

"Fools are good for nothing but death," I say to the stone. My inner workings are crushed: Wires feeling as though they are being twisted, framework being bent askew. It hurts inside. It hurts, Whin…

She had held me before she died. Little Hy, gripping my leg with her black fingers, her small black optics blinking up to me, filled not with fear, but pure sorrow. The world around us was in turmoil, the war between the Still-Humans and the Machines tearing the Earth apart, making it bleed rubble and dust. I held my staff out to protect her. This beam of bone would empower us. It was of the Earth, as I had been. I felt her grip tighten on my olive-green leg. I looked down to her.

"I don't wanna die, Eveie," she said solemnly.

"You won't, Hy." I held her closer. "I will protect you. I will never let anything happen to you. I promise."

A bomb exploded nearby, grabbing my attention. I became wary, trying so desperately to hide my fear. For her.

She knew.

A body dropped a few feet away. Flowers and weeds withered around us, and we were engulfed in the yellow gas that had taken so many lives before us.

There was no hiding it.

She knew.

"I don't wanna die…I don't wanna die…." Her sobs were the only fitting music that could ever be played in this world again.

I feel empty inside, thinking of her. I had broken my promise. When her time had come, I had never found her body. It had been buried too deep in fallen debris to ever recover.

And then there had been Blair. His death had been the only perfect one. He had died because he wanted to, by suicide. He had always been a hot head. One argument with me and he perished by his own will. A building had been set fire by one of the machines. It was perfect. It was his way to go.

There was no need for an apology on my part. He had owed me. He had taken Whin away from me.

The wind blows through me, making me shiver. It is so unfair, this world is. I am alone in a world of pain. I never did learned what my number is. I have searched my body out of curiosity, but in vain. I have never found it. I now will never know what it is…But is it relevant? I am not a number. I am not a statistic. I am not a fool.

But I am dead.

I have long since been dead. I will never live again. I will not allow it.

I blink my optics repeatedly, my shoulders heaving with sobs. But there are no tears. There have not been any in years. I am alone. Alone to never cry.

"It hurts, Whin. It hurts so much…" His gravestone is my only lifeline.

A drop.

Another.

I look up. The sky is grey, and its deep clouds are sobbing, sobbing with tears, tears that shall quiet the vicious flames that have ravaged the Earth for so many years.

Rain.

She lives.

It has not rained since before I have awoken in this new body. The sky, like me, has finally decided that the pain must be released.

The Fire has died, long ago, but has haunted me for so long. He has torn at me, making me bleed bloodlessly. He has long since taken my soul, and fed it to the Machine.

But look. Look, Whin.

Rain.

She lives, Whin. So do you.

Only I remain dead. Only Blair now dies.

She falls for days, Hydromida does. She falls for _days_, Whin. I hear the wind hum contently over the entrance of the cave I have taken refuge in. She never will stop. I hope she never will.

But she does. She finally stops. And he is resurrected. Blair returns, but not to sear the Earth angrily, but to warm it. A great ball of energy hanging in the sky, he smiles down to me. His smile is warm on my face.

My family is alive again. I smile sadly.

But I am still dead. I will always be dead.

I came to visit you again, Whin. And I realized something—something wonderful.

Over your grave, is a lonely, fragile blade of green. My circuits had stopped when I saw it.

You had given me that blade, hadn't you Whin?

I raise my head to the sky. "Thank you," I whisper. The wind blows around me, embracing me in a warm hug. This was a wonderful gift. I am no longer alone in death.

I am alive again.

I shall always be nameless to this world, this world in which your name is a number, not a word. But I do not mind. I am at peace.

My name is Eve. I am the last to be reborn. And I will never be alone again.

**I'm not sure what brought this story to mind. It came to me, and I just HAD to write it, even though it's very vague. But I hope that the point comes across. The four stitchpunks here represent the elements: Whin is wind, Hy is water, Blair is fire, and Eve is earth. Eve never meets the 9 stitchpunks, so she thinks she's the last living being. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own 9.**


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